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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26636386">Inconsolable Rage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accident/pseuds/Accident'>Accident</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sherlock Hits Back [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, John Whump, Love Confessions, M/M, Sherlock Whump, The Lying Detective alt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:15:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,376</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26636386</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accident/pseuds/Accident</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John has to make things right because of what he did in the morgue but will Sherlock give him the chance?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sherlock Hits Back [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937800</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Accident's Solo Fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Inconsolable Rage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">

        <li>
          Translation into Español available: 
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26665486">Rabia inconsolable</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockedin221B/pseuds/lockedin221B">lockedin221B</a>
        </li>
        <li>
          Translation into Русский available: 
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748325">Безутешная ярость (Inconsolable Rage)</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesli_rus/pseuds/Lesli_rus">Lesli_rus</a>
        </li>


    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! I had the though “what if Sherlock hit John back in the morgue in the lying detective?” And this is the second part of that fic! </p><p>I want to thank everyone for their love and comments on the first fic "Somebody loves you..." which is the first part of this series! you can read it here https://archiveofourown.org/works/26519074</p><p>Beta by the wonderful Bluebuell33 https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebuell33/pseuds/Bluebuell33</p><p>Any spelling and or grammar errors are mine and please let me know if you find one! Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John sat there on the floor of the morgue for what felt like forever. If he was breathing it certainly didn’t feel like it for the way his lungs burned and his heart ached. Rejected. He was rejected by Sherlock Holmes.</p><p>
  <em> Maybe confessing your feelings to someone after you just beat the shit out of them isn’t the best idea. </em>
</p><p>He had to find him. He had to find Sherlock. He couldn’t keep screwing things up without trying to make them right. If anything he had to apologize for beating the man if not for everything he’s ever put Sherlock through.</p><p>John pulls himself up off the floor, trying to get his bearings and figure out where Sherlock could have gone. He looked towards the door Sherlock left through and decided that was the best course of action. He walks out the door and finds little droplets of blood on the floor.</p><p>“I may not be a consulting detective but I can certainly follow this trail..” John frowns, following the droplets through the maze of hallways.</p><p>Flashes of Sherlock’s face play over and over in his mind. Sherlock on the floor, taking blow after blow. Watching him be content to take his unwarranted punishment. He fully accepted John’s anger and let himself take the brunt of that inconsolable rage.</p><p>Sherlock’s face as he got up, wobbling and choking on his own blood. The blood John had brought forth.</p><p>
  <em> “You deserve this, you heartless bastard.” John had snarled. </em>
</p><p>The way Sherlock’s face looked as something clicked in his mind. His brilliant endless pit of a mind. Realization. A full epiphany played across his expression as he came to terms with something at the heart of their dynamic.</p><p>Sherlock’s face as his arm reeled back before sending his fist against John’s cheek. Missing his nose and teeth, a calculated strike.</p><p>
  <em> Somebody loves you... </em>
</p><p>John stops in front of a loo door, the blood trail leading inside. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself before pushing the door open.</p><p>Sherlock was standing at the row of sinks under the buzzing fluorescent lights. One hand held himself steady on the counter while the other held tissues to his nose trying to stop the incessant dripping of blood.</p><p>Sherlock hated blood which given his profession, albeit the profession he created himself, a sense of irony. He hated blood when it wasn’t contained in a vial or Petri dish. He loved blood splatter, especially when it came from a homicide scene. The spray having a biological bash art work displayed for only the few who get to document its existence. He hated his own blood. He’d seen enough of it to last a lifetime. Far too much.</p><p>“Let me take a look at you.” John says softly, taking a step forward.</p><p>“Don’t you think you’ve done quite enough?” Sherlock doesn’t look away from himself in the mirror, his voice coming out strange since his nasal passages are infringed.</p><p>John clenches his fist. His knuckles were sore, split. He didn’t realize they were bleeding until this moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he was in a fight that busted his knuckles.</p><p>
  <em> It wasn’t a fight. It was a beating. </em>
</p><p>John swallows hard, going to the farthest sink from Sherlock, to wash his hands.</p><p>“Literal blood on your hands. How poetic.” Sherlock comments, his own knuckles bruised in self defense.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” John feels sick, his knuckles burn under the water.</p><p>“For what?” Sherlock tosses his bunch of tissues in the bin and puts fresh ones to his nose. “For hitting me? For gaslighting me? Perhaps the selfishness? For saying you loved me after beating me to a pulp? You’ll have to be more specific, John. It’s so desperately hard to think through a concussion.” He sighs.</p><p>John holds onto the counter as the world sways under his feet. “All of it. Everything. Every awful thing I’ve ever done to you or said to you. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Sherlock is silent, his eyes closed.</p><p>“I’m a shit mate. A horrible father. An awful husband. Really just a waste of a life.” John trembles.</p><p>“Is that how your father would respond after beating you? Or your mother? Or Harry? Taking no responsibility for his actions? Trying to garner sympathy from those he abused because he was a bad man who couldn’t help himself? Try again, John. I’m sick and tired of the dishonesty. Of your act, pretending to be this unassuming little doctor who charms people with his grumpy attitude and ugly jumpers. No one knows you like I do John. No one knows of the rage you keep pushed down deep inside yourself. I know. It’s the kind of rage that boils and burns. Inconsolable rage. Absolutely inconsolable.” Sherlock spits blood into the sink, watching it roll down the drain.</p><p>John feels like he can’t breathe. He sinks to the flood, head between his knees trying to remember how to breathe. He’s seen Sherlock vicious before but it was always directed at other people. Never to him. <em> Never. </em></p><p>“I mean really, John. Aren’t you tired? Don’t you wish you could just be yourself? You were born and bred for battle. For action. For blood. For death. You excel in chaos. You feed off it. The higher the stakes, the worse the odds, the more nourished you become. You’ve been angry for so long you’ve forgotten what the fuck your mad at.” Sherlock throws out the tissues as his nose stops bleeding. He dampens a paper towel and carefully wipes down his face.</p><p>John can feel bile rolling up his esophagus. He’s sweating on the ice cold floor. He can’t speak.</p><p>“You learned from a very young age that acting out of turn would be bad. Would result in pain and humiliation. So you learned how to navigate. How to get away with what you wanted. How to act. How to hide your true face from the world. You were always ready to get them before they got you even when there was no them. Always ready for a battle. A war. Ready to fight for your life. Tell me, how did it feel when you finally hit your father back? Did you feel powerful? Did you feel vindicated? Did you feel like you finally had the power back?” Sherlock finally looks down at John.</p><p>John just shakes his head. He didn’t remember what he felt. That’s not true. He didn’t--he didn’t want to but he did. “It felt good. So good. I’d finally beaten him. I’d finally won.” He whispers, hating the words as they fell from his mouth.</p><p>“Of course you did. You finally stood up to your abuser. You have him a taste of his own medicine. You showed him you were no longer afraid. So tell me, John. What makes you so afraid of me?” Sherlock’s gaze peers into the very essences of John.</p><p>John’s eyes are wide. “I don’t know what you mean..”</p><p>“Yes you do. You know exactly what I mean.” Sherlock takes a step towards him.</p><p>John scrubs his hands over his face. “That you’d throw me away. Leave me. Abandon me. Leave me to rot in this godforsaken existence by myself. No light. No passion. No meaning. Nothing. You did it to me once.”</p><p>“Do you not know me at all, John?” Sherlock asks as the door opens. “Occupied.” He snaps, making the man at the door flee.</p><p>“I thought I did!” John shouts, looking up at Sherlock. “But then you jumped and left me! Alone again! Always alone!”</p><p>“Everything I’ve done since the moment I’ve met you has been about you!” Sherlock snaps back. “To make you feel needed. Wanted. Useful. To make sure you never contemplated putting that gun in your mouth ever again!” He hisses, body swaying.</p><p>John pales, collapsing back against the wall.</p><p>“You are so blinded by your own perceptions of the world around you that you can’t see I’ve been in love with you since the moment you walked into that bloody lab with Mike Stamford!” Sherlock trembles, hard. He shakes like a man who is falling apart from the inside out.</p><p>“Sherlock.” John has barely enough time to lunge forward and catch Sherlock before he hits the ground.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! Leave a comment and let me know what you think! I'd also like if you told me how you found this fic &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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